


Saturday

by 10centpistol



Series: Bookstore Boyfriends [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee Shops, First Date, First Meeting, M/M, fluff but also plot, jean is awkward and confused, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10centpistol/pseuds/10centpistol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean just wants to get his coffee and walk to work in peace. A certain freckled boy ensures there’s going to be a change of plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be the first work in my new series, Bookstore Boyfriends. The first two chapters will happen back to back, but the rest may jump around a bit in the timeline. I’ll be getting a lot of inspiration from my own experiences at college, so I’ll probably be writing about all the random shit that happens to me (if only I had a boyfriend as adorable as these two dorks).

_September 16_

_Monday_

“That will be $3.19, please.”

Jean groaned and dug through his pocket for any extra change. The barista shrugged sympathetically, having witnessed this routine from him a few times. Three weeks into the semester and he had already developed (or rather, relapsed into) a vicious coffee addiction. 

He hated spending most of his hard-earned money on caffeine just so he could remain conscious during his morning shifts and earn the money to pay for that coffee. It was a never-ending cycle. 

Drink in hand, he made his way toward the door, avoiding bumping into other students out of sheer luck rather than any sort of awareness of his surroundings. His sleep-addled mind didn’t even register the unfamiliar face wearing the trademark vest forced upon all campus bookstore employees. It was on his own vest that Jean spilled the last dregs of his coffee as he stuffed his backpack in his employee cubby before heading out to the registers. 

The next two hours were a blur, his thoughts on everything except dealing with the endless line of over-excited high school seniors visiting the campus and forcing their parents to buy them $50 sweatshirts they’d likely donate once they got rejected. 

Jean wasn’t always this cynical. It’s just that it was early, and junior year was already kicking his ass, and this semester was going to be the toughest yet because upper divisions actually matter on your transcript. And to top it all off, he got stuck with the Monday-Wednesday-Friday morning shift. 

Time seemed to lose its meaning, alternating between the agonizing tick of the second hand on his watch and the whirlwind of thirty minutes slipping away without having blinked. Finally finishing his shift, Jean waved goodbye to Bertholdt and the other cashiers and headed off to class. 

\-- -- -- 

_September 18_

_Wednesday_

A familiar face with a familiar smile greeted Jean as he approached the counter to order his coffee. _Petra. Her name is Petra_. He repeated the name a few times over in his head, not wanting to forget so simple a fact. 

“Medium coffee, with room.” Petra’s eyes lit up when she recited his order from memory, punching it into the register before Jean could even start his sentence. 

_You know you have a problem when they remember your order_ , thought Jean as he handed her a $5 bill. He was honestly thankful for it though, because sometimes he couldn’t remember his order, which became problematic when he tried to add more than enough cream to drown out the flavor of the coffee and had to awkwardly dump some out, always making a mess and inviting the stares of other students. Even after two full years of college, Jean still didn’t actually enjoy drinking coffee. 

He quickly got his drink and headed to the station with the milk and sugar. Just as he was about to pour the cream in—it’s his favorite part, watching it swirl in the black liquid—someone stood next to him, a little too close for comfort, especially at the small counter. 

“Hey!,” the boy said, a bit too enthusiastically for Jean’s taste. “I couldn’t help noticing that you work at the bookstore.” 

Jean turned his head to face the person interrupting his morning ritual, first seeing that he too was wearing the red vest required of all bookstore employees. Much too tired to deal with the friendly stranger, Jean shrugged him off, saying “Yeah. I do. In fact, I gotta go there right now,” the end trailing off as he replaced the lid on his coffee and headed for the door. 

Stepping out of the coffee shop and into the sunny morning air, Jean realized that the boy was still behind him, to his left just out of view. In the short walk to work neither of them said a word, but the kid gave Jean a sheepish wave before saying, “see ya” and going up the escalator. 

By the time he’d rung up his third customer, Jean was thinking nothing of it. 

\-- -- -- 

Friday mornings were always marginally better—the light at the end of the tunnel and all that. In line to order, Jean saw the same boy at the counter, ordering from Petra and eliciting a wide smile and a giggle from her. Jean kept his eyes on him as he took his drink to the sugar station, watching as he added just a splash of cream before securing the lid. The boy turned his head in the direction of the line, and Jean snapped his gaze to the back of the next guy’s head, trying to play it cool and avoid conversation. 

Jean _swears_ he’s not an anti-social douche. The kid’s nice and all, but he’s just not in the mood to chat. The Thursday frat parties were particularly rowdy the night before and the walls of his apartment are quite thin. The bags under his eyes would probably be enough to ward off anyone looking to shoot the breeze with him.

In his periphery he saw the boy getting closer and realized the inevitable was about to occur. 

Sucking in a breath, he casually turned his head and came face to face with the boy 

“Hey, good to see you here again,” he said, giving Jean a sincere smile. 

“Yeah, same for you,” said Jean, not quite as sincerely. 

“You work the morning shift at the bookstore?”

Jean gave an affirmative grunt and accompanying nod of his head. The boy continued, seemingly happy to carry on a one-sided conversation. 

“So do I. Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday. I’m guessing you do too, because that’s when I’ve seen you here.” His gazed down at his feet and said it almost like it was a question, not meeting Jean’s eyes until a beat had passed. The smirk on Jean’s face went unnoticed. 

“Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday. And afternoons Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Jean volunteered, sensing the tension in the boy’s voice, desperately trying to keep the discussion from getting any more awkward. 

Another moment passed before the boy extended his hand in Jean’s direction. 

“My name’s Marco,” he said, shifting his feet back and forth. Jean froze. He was hoping they wouldn’t have to exchange names, but couldn’t help but be a little in awe of the kid’s persistence despite his obvious nerves. 

“Jean,” he said, pausing briefly before taking the offered hand and giving it a courteous shake. His name had left his lips before he could think about it. 

A cough from behind called his attention back to the pressing issue at hand—coffee. Jean winced when he saw he’d held up the line, shooting Marco an apologetic glance before stepping up to fill the gap. He was surprised to see Marco waiting for him by the cream and sugar, slowly sipping his coffee and staring out the window, face relaxed except for his eyes squinting in the sun. 

“I’m headed to the bookstore,” Jean offered, shrugging his shoulder in the direction of the door. They exited the coffee shop in silence, Marco following just behind Jean. 

“So what’s your major?” 

“Occupational Therapy,” said Marco, glancing at Jean for any hint that he knew what that was. Jean’s face was stoic, betraying neither confusion nor recognition. 

Marco continued hesitantly. “I’m a junior.” Jean nodded in solidarity. “Just started working at the bookstore, on the textbooks floor.”

“These morning shifts are a real bitch, am I right?” Jean mused, taking a sip of his drink after reminding himself of why he was so tired. 

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m weird, but I don’t mind it so much,” said Marco, shifting his hot drink to his other hand. 

“I’ve never understood morning people. They’re not normal,” Jean said sardonically. 

Marco laughed into his drink before tasting it experimentally, careful not to burn his tongue. Jean looked over at him, expecting to see the disapproving frown his comments usually inspired, but Marco’s expression was the same as before, wide-eyed and bright. _I really can’t stand morning people_ , he thought with a scowl. 

It was quiet for the next minute it took them to reach the bookstore. Parting ways just inside the door, Jean stood to watch as Marco disappeared up the escalator, catching him glancing over his shoulder just as he reached the top.

Heading to the employee lounge to drop off his bag, he was struck by Marco’s unusual cheer. Jean would certainly never consider going out of his way to be that friendly this early in the morning. He was worried that Mr. Sunshine might have rubbed off on him, because for some reason he was feeling a little better about his shift. 

In between ringing up customers, Bertholdt commented that Jean was being oddly pleasant today. Jean gave him the finger behind the register. 

\-- -- -- 

_September 23_

_Early hours of Monday_

Jean spent his weekend in a haze of textbooks and worksheets, leaving his apartment once to go to McDonald’s and once to get the food from the delivery man. He collapsed into bed at 2:00 am, dread seeping into his stomach at the promise of waking up to another grueling week at 7:00 am. He’d hoped to fall asleep quickly, but charts from his notes and vague memories of impending deadlines flooded his mind. Tossing aimlessly on the bed, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried very hard to think about nothing.

The last thing he expected was for Marco’s face to flash across his eyes. Jean shook his head at the thought, but the boy’s kind smile stuck. 

_Why the fuck am I thinking about Marco?_

_He’s a nice guy and all. Maybe a bit too nice for my taste. I guess it’s better than him being a jerk. Like me._

_Why am I thinking about dudes as I’m falling asleep?_

Jean rolled onto his back, suddenly wide awake and eyes open. 

They say the gayest time of your life is your freshman year of college. For Jean it had actually been his straightest, in that he made out with one girl at a party one time, which led to the most awkward handjob in the history of handjobs. He didn’t even finish, for crying out loud. After that his sex life came to a screeching halt just as fast as it had started, but that didn’t stop his thoughts from drifting toward the other end of the spectrum. 

Jean found himself noticing men on campus more and more frequently; guys on skateboards wearing raybans, guys dressed up for class presentations in what’s probably the only suit they own. He’d be hard-pressed to admit it, but he’d even had a sizeable crush on his economics professor last spring. Probably the only reason he went to Professor Smith’s class was to spend an hour admiring the man’s obviously muscular torso that his sportcoats failed to hide, and wondering how he managed to keep his hair so perfectly coifed at all times, and how the rumble of his voice filled the lecture hall… 

Jean sighed and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Now was _not_ the time to have an erection. He managed to will it away by reminding himself of how terrible his week was going to be, which was an odd sort of comfort that he didn’t want to linger on. 

After that, Jean’s thoughts finally started to become incoherent as he drifted off. The last thing he remembered was thinking of how the red of the bookstore vest really played up Marco’s smile. Which was weird because lots of guys wear red and everyone smiles and…

\-- -- --

Jean woke with his legs tangled in the covers, a full thirty minutes before his alarm was set to go off. After trying and failing to fall back asleep, he trudged to the bathroom to wash up, then to the kitchen for his morning bowl of cereal. 

Like most mornings in Los Angeles, the sky was clear; glancing out the window Jean couldn’t see a single cloud. Choosing to walk to campus early, he was able to beat the morning rush and snag an empty seat near the door of the coffee shop. 

Watching the steam rise from his cup, he thought of how nice it was to have a morning that wasn’t a frantic rush out the door, and that he was able to enjoy his warm beverage for once. 

_God, I hope I’m not becoming a morning person._

Jean forgot all about his drink when Marco came through the door, easily spotting Jean in his red vest and eyeing the other seat at the table. Thankfully the line moved quickly, and Marco sat down just as Jean took his last swig. 

“There’s still ten minutes before we have to start. Do you mind waiting while I finish mine?” Marco asked, taking the lid off his drink and stirring the foam absent-mindedly. 

Neither boy said a word, Macro continuing to fiddle with his stirrer and Jean passing his empty cup between his hands. It had only been a minute since Jean had his caffeine intake, but he couldn’t seem to sit still, shifting idly every thirty seconds, crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

With his chin tipped down to stare at his coffee, Jean was able to study the other boy’s features, noticing for the first time the dusting of freckles adorning Marco’s cheeks. Jokingly he tried to count them but found there were too many, finally deciding to admire them as a whole instead. 

“Jean?”

He snapped out of his trance when he realized Marco was asking him a question. He hoped he hadn’t been caught staring, but the blush rising on his face was probably giving him away. 

“Yeah, sorry. Caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet.” He raised an eyebrow at Marco in an attempt to be nonchalant. 

Marco seemed unphased by the whole situation, continuing on with his question, “Have you ever tried this caramel latte? It’s actually really good.” He took another sip, as if to prove his point. 

“I actually don’t like coffee that much. I just like being awake,” said Jean, sneering. Marco opened his mouth in surprise, about to follow up with another question before Jean stood up suddenly, grabbing his backpack off the floor and slinging it hurriedly over his shoulder. 

“Shit! It’s 7:59. We need to fuckin’ get going!” 

They both tossed their cups and slinked through the growing crowd of students in a rushed silence until Jean suddenly exclaimed, “God damn it. I forgot my phone.”

Marco paused to meet Jean’s eyes, furrowing his brow and trying to think of a way to help. 

“You go ahead, Marco. I’ll see you later.” 

Jean turned away before he could see the disappointment that flashed across Marco’s face, soon replaced by the panic to make it to work as fast as possible. 

Running out of the coffee shop with phone in hand, Jean was just able to spot a blurry figure in red dashing up the stairs and into the bookstore. 

\-- -- -- 

Wednesday morning was much less eventful, and the two boys were able to talk leisurely after meeting up in line. 

The typical college banter that usually pissed Jean off—“Man I had so much work last night,” “Yeah, me too, this paper is killing me”—passed easily between them, and though the conversation was technically empty, Jean couldn’t help but want to continue it.  

Zoning out during lecture, Jean found his thoughts drifting to Marco. _What class is he in right now? What does he like to do on weekends?_ The class rolled onward, the minutes passing smoothly. 

He hadn’t thought about anybody in this way in recent memory. It didn’t concern him in the slightest until he heard that obnoxious Eren kid arguing with the professor, but found himself unable to drum up anything more that an eyeroll in response. _If Marco was here he’d probably laugh it off_. 

Eren tried to get the last word in but the professor was already packing up his bag and dismissing everyone. Jean trudged out of the building and made his way to the quad, intending to get an early start on his work, but reconsidered when he saw none other than Marco laying in the grass with a novel, on his stomach with his chin propped up on one hand. 

Inexplicably, Jean suddenly felt like he needed to sit down, his face hot and palms sweaty. He could take a detour back to his apartment and avoid saying hello, but somehow that seemed like the wrong thing to do. His legs carried him down the path cutting across the lawn, bringing him just a few feet behind Marco’s outstretched legs. 

He took a light step onto the grass, trying to avoid disturbing his reading. Announcing his presence, he quietly called, “Marco? Hey!” 

Marco rolled onto his elbow to take a glance behind him, then quickly turned over to sit, facing Jean and staring up at him. 

“Shouldn’t you be in class or something?” Jean asked sarcastically, one hand on his backpack to feign casualness and mask his unease. 

“I finish early on Wednesdays. And it’s just such a nice day and I couldn’t resist,” he said, gesturing toward his book. 

Part of Jean’s brain was screaming _nerd alert!_ , but another part was dumbstruck by the way Marco squinted his eyes in the sun to look up at him, and how he pulled his knees in close to his chest and closed his book when Jean came up, and how his freckles already seemed darker. 

Jean was torn between dropping his bag to join Marco in the grass and getting home to do the homework that couldn’t be put off any longer. Because it _was_ a beautiful day and he’d much rather spend it outside than cooped up in his room. And he’d also rather not spend the afternoon alone. 

Thinking better of it, he gave an awkward wave accompanied by a dramatic turn toward the other end of the quad before he got sucked in.

“Well, not all of us are so lucky. I’ve got a shit ton of homework,” he sighed. “But I’ll see you Friday.” 

Marco nodded as Jean briskly continued down the sidewalk, turning around once to see the other boy back on his stomach, book in hand. 

\-- -- -- 

_September 27_

_Friday_

Jean woke with a start at 7:44 am. Throwing the covers off and scrambling to get dressed, he managed to grab an energy bar that he scarfed down in record time while booking it to campus. He considered skipping his morning coffee, but he figured he was already ten minutes late, so what was another five going to matter? 

By some miracle there were only two people ahead of him in line. He reached the register and was about to blurt out his order, when Petra handed him a medium cup of coffee with “extra cream” written on the side. 

“It’s already been paid for,” she said, eyes smiling but her lips in more of a smirk. He took the coffee and headed right to work, still too foggy to process what just happened. _It’s too early for people to be doing nice things_. 

Pumping his legs to speed up his pace and his mind, he mentally scanned the list of people who could possibly be responsible. Obviously it was someone he knew, but he was stuck on which of his acquaintances would go out of their way for him. 

_Maybe it was the cashier—Petra—but why wouldn’t she fess up to it if she did it?_ He turned the cup to look at the special instruction: _Extra cream_. 

It had to be someone who knew about his dirty little coffee secret, who must have seen him preparing his drink. _Someone I see in the coffee shop almost every day._  

Jean pushed his hair back with a heavy sigh, trying to drive that thought from his head. 

Slipping behind a pair of students entering the bookstore, he gave a wave to Bertholdt who was already behind his register before rushing to the lounge. Jean almost threw his bag in his cubby without looking twice, but an errant piece of paper taped to the back caught his eye. 

_Saturday?_

He took the note off the wall, glancing at the name above his cubby to make sure it was his. Flipping it over, scrawled in neat handwriting, was _Marco Bodt_ with a phone number underneath. 

Jean couldn’t stop the blush rising on his cheeks if he tried. Checking to ensure the room was empty before pulling out his phone, he eagerly entered the digits, grinning stupidly at the name staring back at him. Tucking the note safely in his back pocket, he headed out to his post. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean has his coffee date with Marco. Well, it’s not a date. They’re just meeting for coffee. Because Marco asked him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to my fantastic beta snk-sexual (tumblr) aka gonnaflynow here on AO3. Hope you enjoy these dorks.

_September 28_

_Saturday_

Jean made it to the coffee shop ten minutes early. He’d even set three alarms, just in case he overslept like the day before. _I’d be a real ass if I missed him twice in a row._

Already mostly awake when the first ring blared, Jean swung his legs over the edge of the bed, blindly groping for his glasses. He stumbled into the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would wake him up. Stepping out a good ten minutes later and wiping the foggy glass to glance at himself, he was struck by that unease in the pit of his stomach usually reserved for the morning of an exam. 

Plodding back to his room to check the calendar on his phone, fearful of some assignment his subconscious was just now remembering, he only saw an alert reminding him: _Coffee with Marco 11 am._ He waited a moment for his stomach to settle, but when it didn’t he figured he’d better just finish getting ready.

If anything, Jean was glad to have a few minutes to spare to make an actual decision about what he wanted to wear instead of grabbing the first clean thing he spotted on the floor. His hand hovered for a moment over a red t-shirt screenprinted with the university’s name, but he thought better of it after considering the color—no reminders of work on the weekends _._  

Eventually settling on one of the many pairs of basic black jeans in his closet—it was either that or blue denim, which wasn’t much of a choice—he threw on a green v-neck before slipping his wallet in his pocket and heading out. 

\-- -- -- 

“It’s gonna be a warm one today,” Bertholdt called from the kitchen. Marco pulled up his weather app as he brushed his teeth, confirming that it would be 83º and sunny, just as it had been all week. 

A worry crossed his mind that maybe hot drinks weren’t the best idea. 

He decided to check his messages, poring over his texts from the day before.

 

_From: Jean. 4:43 pm._

Hey. Its Jean. I got ur note. Do u have something in mind for tomorrow?

_To: Jean. 4:57 pm._

Hi Jean! I was thinking we could get coffee and just chat. Seems to be working well so far. 

_From: Jean. 5:14 pm._

Yeah. Sorry about this morning btw. Overslept again. 

_To: Jean. 5:19 pm._

No worries. Happens to the best of us! How does 11am sound? 

_From: Jean. 5:21 pm._

Sounds good. C U then. 

 

Marco finished tucking his shirt into his chinos, slipping his flip flops on and closing the bedroom door behind him. 

“Hey, it is cool if I have a couple friends over later?”

Sensing that a question was being directed at him, Marco glanced over to his roommate after establishing that it was now 10:48 and he needed to get going.  

“Huh?” was all he managed to get out while searching through his backpack for his keys. 

“I was just checking if I could invite Annie and Reiner over in a couple hours. I haven’t seen them yet this semester and—”

“Sorry, I gotta run. Just text me when they’re heading over if I’m not home,” said Marco as he opened the front door of their apartment, giving Bertholdt an apologetic wave for dashing out. 

\-- -- --

Jean had never seen the coffee shop this empty, but then again, he’d never been in except during the morning rush. He grabbed the same table he and Marco had sat at earlier in the week, facing the door. 

Checking his phone for the time—10:57—then his watch, then back to his phone, he failed to register the worker approaching the table to wipe it down until she was standing next to him. 

Eyes meeting in a moment of mutual recognition, Petra gave him a cheerful smile and said, “Are you waiting for someone?” before looking over her shoulder at the door. 

Concern washed over her face when she turned back to Jean and saw his eyes wide, fingers curled over the edge of the table in a vice grip. 

“Hey Jean,” said Marco as he paused to catch the door for a woman carrying a tray of drinks. Planting his feet next to the empty chair opposite Jean, he gave Petra a quick hello before dropping his keys on the table. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” he said, smiling brightly. Jean’s knuckles began turning white. 

“Glad you made it, Marco,” Petra chirped, sauntering to the counter and subtly tugging Marco along by the elbow. Jean leaned in, eyes squinting as he tried to analyze the gesture. Petra gave Marco’s shoulder a playful nudge before walking behind the counter, adding to the gnawing feeling in Jean’s stomach that definitely wasn’t from hunger. 

As Petra perkily took her place at the register, Jean realized he had no idea what he wanted to order. His eyes darted across the menu hanging above his head, reading the words but failing to process the information. 

“I’ll have a vanilla latte please. Medium,” Marco said confidently. Jean felt two expectant pairs of eyes turn to him. 

Glancing at the menu one last time before finalizing the decision in his mind, Jean said, “Uhhh…I’ll try the caramel latte.” Marco’s lips twitched in a slight smile, corners of his eyes crinkling. 

“Medium?” Jean gave an approving nod. 

“Together or separate?” 

“Separate,” Jean said quickly. He hadn’t intended the harsh edge in his voice and looked over at Marco to gauge his reaction, relieved to see his expression unchanged. He was overanalyzing everything, but he couldn’t help it. Deep in his mind he knew this was more than _just coffee._

The two boys stood in silence, Marco leaning casually against the counter as Petra prepared the drinks, while Jean picked up three different bags of coffee beans from the nearby display before replacing them without reading the labels. 

Taking their drinks to the table, Marco sat with his back facing the window, the light slightly obscuring his features. Jean could just make out the furrow of his brow. 

“I hope coffee was okay,” he said, his voice tinged with anxiety. “I couldn’t think of anything else on campus that’s open on Saturday.” 

“Nah, it’s cool,” he said, downplaying Marco’s concern. Without thinking, he took a large sip of his coffee, sputtering as the scalding liquid spread across his tongue. 

Jean waved Marco off before he could ask what was wrong, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. _Keep it together, Kirschtein. You just sat down and already you’re about to blow it._

Marco took his eyes off Jean briefly to remove the lid and blow on his drink before cautiously saying, “I know you already asked me this, but what’s your major?” 

“IRGB,” Jean said matter-of-factly. Marco leaned in slightly, expecting Jean to elaborate. A pause filled the air. 

“International Relations and Global Business,” he offered more freely. Marco’s confused expression cleared up immediately. _I shouldn’t be so surprised that he hasn’t heard of it_ , he admitted. _It’s not like I know what the fuck his major is_. 

“Slightly fewer assholes than in straight-up business,” he added, his smirk morphing into a grimace at the reminder of the most annoying part of his week. _Not trying to think about classes right now_. _Or that douchewad Eren. Fuck that guy._

“Oh, right,” said Marco as he contemplated Jean’s response. “I actually think I know a couple guys doing that.” Jean laughed, silently praying for Marco’s sake that it wasn’t anyone he knew.  

“And you’re doing therapy or something… Like psychology?”

“Sort of,” Marco said, breaking into an excited grin and setting both elbows on the table. “Actually, not quite. Occupational Therapy is all about helping people who, for whatever reason, can’t participate in their usual activities anymore.”

Enunciating much more clearly and waving his right hand as he spoke, Marco continued. “So an occupation is any meaningful activity, right? So it could be a person’s job, or their favorite hobby. And something happens to them that keeps them from doing those things.” His eyes widened. “That’s where we come in. With counseling or lifestyle redesign or whatever they need.” 

Jean nodded in consideration. “Seems pretty legit,” he said. “I’m kind of surprised I’d never heard of it.” 

Marco hummed in agreement, explaining, “I hadn’t heard of it either until second semester freshman year. I went to one of those workshops for undeclared kids and a few professors were 

talking about their departments, and this one professor, Professor Zoe—man, she was—”

“Hot?”

Marco stuttered, thrown off-kilter by Jean’s interjection. “I mean, she’s pretty amazing.” Jean raised his eyebrows. “Probably the best professor I’ve had. Anyway, she took over the whole seminar, going on about all the different types of people you can help—people with mental illnesses, the elderly, people who’ve been in accidents.” 

He hesitated, lowering his eyes toward the table. “It just seemed like the right thing to do with my life.” 

A vague unease enveloped Jean. Despite all that Marco told him, he still somehow felt in the dark, like there was more to his choice of major than a noble desire to help people. Not knowing what else to do, he reached for his coffee. 

Picking up on Jean’s malaise, Marco directed his gaze out the window. “Sorry if that was an overshare.” 

An aborted snort pierced the tension in the air. Marco looked back, perplexed by the sight of Jean shaking his head in surprise at his drink. 

“You okay?”

“It’s nothing,” said Jean, pausing before turning one corner of his mouth up. “This drink’s just really fuckin’ good.” He raised the cup in a toast then brought it to his lips. 

The mounting concern on Marco’s face melted away in an instant, his easy-going smile spreading from cheek to cheek. Jean definitely noticed the way the skin around his nose scrunched up, but definitely _didn’t_ think it was cute. 

“Back in Colorado, it’s my favorite winter-time drink. I’ll get it out here once in awhile, but it’s just not the same when it’s 80 degrees outside. Not that I’m complaining!” The mere mention of sunny weather made Marco’s eyes light up. 

One word flooded Jean’s thoughts. _Freckles._

“Yeah it’s pretty nice. But I’m from around here so I guess I’m used to it,” Jean said indifferently, shifting in his seat to put his back to the window, one arm balancing on the chair and the other splayed on the small table. Everyone from other states raved about the weather all the time, but it never concerned him much. 

_I wonder how many freckles Marco would have if he lived here year-round?_

Jean averted his eyes to anywhere except Marco’s face. Suddenly he was very, very interested in the corner that Petra was mopping opposite their table. He could tell she was looking at them, or more specifically at Marco, urgency written across her face. 

Marco had unrolled one of his sleeves and was trying to work the tiny button on the forearm back through its hole. His fingers slipped around the small piece of plastic, his pout getting larger after each failed attempt. 

Jean moved to scoot his chair away from the window, his current position putting his face directly in the sun. The sound of wood scraping against the floor startled Marco, snapping him out of his focus on the shirt. He worked the sleeve back up his arm, meticulously tucking it back in place before resting both hands in his lap. 

Marco took one deep breath, grinning sheepishly at Jean who had been watching the whole affair. He parted his lips but said nothing, pausing in consideration. 

Finally he said, “Hey Jean, can I ask you something?”

The lingering ache in Jean’s belly that was _I have an exam today_ exploded into the sharp pain known as _I have an exam in five minutes_. His stomach had turned into knots and butterflies all at once. He just hoped he didn’t look as nervous as Marco. 

“Are you…” Marco paused, his whole body bouncing slightly from the shake of his leg. “Are you gay?”

_Shit._

Jean went completely still, his face slack like someone had accidentally flipped his off switch. Inside his head his thoughts were racing, yet he was drawing a complete blank on an answer. He’d never been asked a question like that before. 

 _I honestly don’t know_. 

Almost imperceptibly, Marco muttered, “Sorry if I made this weird.” All the color was drained from his face. 

“Dude,” said Jean, a little too emphatically. “It’s fine. It’s just, I’ve kind of been… putting that question off.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he caught a glimpse of Marco’s blanched cheeks. _Poor kid looks like he’s about to throw up_. 

“What do you mean?” 

From anyone else the question would seem like prying, and Jean would tell them to get bent. But he couldn’t say that to Marco, not when he was being so genuine and so patient.

“I mean, I’ve kissed more girls than guys, but nowadays I usually beat it to guys. So I’m whatever that makes me.” His tone was biting, but he couldn’t muster the eye contact or the smirk needed to deliver the joke. 

A faint blush spread across Marco’s cheeks at Jean’s blunt honesty, reviving the color in his face and renewing his sunny smile. 

“Well,” Marco said, his voice carefully even-toned, “I’m gay.” 

Jean processed this information for a second, then nodded in affirmation. He thought he’d be more uncomfortable with this kind of conversation, telling an almost-stranger he’s basically gay. Shockingly, it didn’t feel that weird, which made him feel even weirder. He didn’t know how these things were supposed to go, but he had a pretty good idea that it wasn’t usually like this.

He sucked in a breath, drumming his fingers on the table. “Want to get going?” he asked. “I kind of have a lot of work to do.” _I hope he doesn’t think I’m ditching him now. I seriously have a fuckload of reading._ Jean groaned and rubbed his head, hoping his comment hadn’t been misinterpreted.

“Yeah, sure. But um,” Marco stammered, “I still don’t know your last name.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and looked up at Jean expectantly, ready to enter the name into his contacts. 

“Just gimme your phone. It’s a bitch to spell.” Jean extended his hand to take the device from Marco, quickly tapping his name in before passing it back across the table. The brush of their fingers as Jean handed the phone back caused Marco to grin into his shoulder and Jean to match Marco’s lingering blush. 

Marco looked at the screen then up to Jean. “Kirschtein,” he said experimentally, the consonants rolling pleasantly off his tongue. Jean nodded thoughtfully. _Not many people get that right on the first try._

“So, Jean Kirschtein. Thanks for getting coffee with me.” The pallor had returned to his complexion as he began to nervously fiddle with his shirt cuffs, now pushed to his elbows. As he locked his eyes down toward his shoes, Jean stared at the crown of his head, admiring the shine of his black hair in the sun. 

“What,” he said, his words laden with self-deprecating sarcasm, “worried you were gonna get stood up?”

“Well, no.” Marco tried his best to look reassuring, but his voice betrayed his insecurity. “I was a little surprised when I saw the text from you. I figured someone would probably take the note down, or you wouldn’t see it or something.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, rocking back on his heels. “But I’m glad you got it.”

 _He’s cute when he smiles, but damn, he’s even cuter when he’s nervous_. 

“Me too,” said Jean, his eyes softening and lips pursed in a slight grin. “Hey, Marco. Do you want to do this again sometime?”

Marco raised an eyebrow, mouth opening to say something. 

“I mean, besides before work,” Jean said, quickly clarifying. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” said Marco, trying and failing to hide his broad smile. “I actually was going to ask you the same thing.” 

“Maybe next weekend then,” Jean said in consideration. “I live alone so my room’s always open. We could watch a movie or something.” 

Marco’s face lit up at the prospect, the tension flooding from his body. “I’d really like that,” he said, much more calmly than expected. Jean knew that look—the one where you’re so excited about something you think you’ll burst, but you have to keep it together because there are people around. 

They headed toward the door and stepped outside, facing each other head on. For a moment, neither boy moved to say anything, both shielding their eyes in the bright mid-day sun. 

“See you Monday, Marco,” Jean said finally, slipping his hands in his pockets. Just as he turned to head back home, out of the corner of his eye he saw Petra watching them from behind the counter, two thumbs up in the air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Thanks so much for sticking with this. This concludes the first work in Bookstore Boyfriends, but there are more stories to come in the series! Keep checking back if you’re interested!


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